


Sheets

by phantomunmasked



Series: It's in the everyday ordinary that we see love [12]
Category: Major Crimes (TV), The Closer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:05:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomunmasked/pseuds/phantomunmasked





	Sheets

Sharon Raydor is a beautiful woman. Andrea knows that; she sees it everyday in the sharp lines of those Armani suits, smells it in the warm tumble of rose scented hair, traces it in the myriad laughter lines that are so quick to show themselves. She carries with her a careful grace; an economy of motion that is telling of an inner stillness. Andrea loves that side of Sharon, loves the unconscious elegance in those limbs that etch poetry in every gesture.  Sharon Raydor is a beautiful woman, everyone can see that, and Andrea is willing to share that Sharon, to let the world soothe itself with the comfort of her soft smiles, her gentle touch.

  
What she will not share, however, is the Sharon that only she sees. The Sharon that presses herself along Andrea’s side, a firm hand gripping her hip possessively. The Sharon that sleeps peaceful tucked into Andrea. The Sharon that soothes Andrea’s worries with lingering kisses and the wisdom in those green, green eyes.

 

Sharon is never more beautiful, Andrea thinks, than when she is in the shaded realm between sleep and wakefulness, for then she is the least self-conscious. She is a vision then, sitting up in the early darkness, where the moon still hangs reluctant in the window. Silvered moonlight drapes her bare form, and Andrea’s breath catches in her throat as her lover stretches, arches her back with unconscious, practiced ease. White sheets rustle, fall to Sharon’s waist and Andrea cannot help but admire the history of Sharon, uniquely so, etched into the shadows dancing across the muscles of her back. Each dip and curve and hollow is testament to the sheer discipline her lover possesses, lovingly kept through rituals of sweat and tears and pain.

 

“You ok?” Andrea would ask, a quiet husk into the still night air.

 

Sharon wouldn’t answer, would simply let Andrea press close, fingers tracing the story of Sharon’s life across her skin. The jut of a shoulderblade, the bony ridge of vertebrae, the puckered skin of a bullet wound or two. Andrea touches it all reverently, and every time she does she is reminded of just how much Sharon has overcome, and loves her ever more fiercely for it.  

 

“Come back to bed,” Andrea would whisper, soft against the fall of Sharon’s hair, quiet against her temple.

 

Sharon would turn then, and regard Andrea with eyes clear with gratitude and a sincerity that hits Andrea like a blow, and nod, once. She would tuck herself into Andrea’s side, and Andrea would hold her close, a languid hand tangling in her lovers’ hair, rubbing soothingly at her nape. They wouldn’t sleep, would only lie there, arms carelessly about each other, revelling in the rarest quiet in their lives. Together they’d watch the shadows shift across the sheets; disregard morning rituals of running and swimming and weights and trade them for the welcome burn of languid lovemaking, rising to ecstasy in tandem with the cresting sun.

And when the sun was fully risen, Sharon would sit up once more, and tug Andrea with her, smiling warm and content. She would laugh, pull Andrea with her to the kitchen, tease her lover about her caffeine addiction. Andrea would scowl, good naturedly, and allow herself to be caught up in the whirlwind that was Sharon Raydor’s affection. She would cast one last look at the rumpled sheets, and Andrea would think (not for the first or last time) – _beautiful._


End file.
